


the tip of your tongue

by rarmaster



Series: yuboat drabbles [2]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: M/M, it's not long enough to be proper slowburn but, slowburn adjacent, they're both gay disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarmaster/pseuds/rarmaster
Summary: Yuan kisses Botta while drunk.





	the tip of your tongue

“Where’s Yuan?” Botta asks the Renegade lieutenant he flagged down. Raibyn, he thinks their name is? It’s difficult to remember _every_ name and face in this base, sometimes.

“Game night, last I saw him,” Raibyn answers, without dropping a beat, though their speech comes out a little slurred. Have they been drinking? You know what, that’s none of Botta’s business.

“Since when does Yuan—” Botta begins, then sighs and rubs at his temples. Even if Yuan doesn’t normally participate in every activity on base, it’s definitely not unusual for him to randomly decide he’s in the mood for something like game night once in a while. It just makes Botta’s job a little harder. Hopefully this report on the latest Desian activity won’t have to wait. What Rodyle’s doing seems kind of urgent. “Never mind,” he tells Raibyn. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure!” Raibyn calls after him as Botta continues down the hall.

It takes a moment for Botta to remember where game night is even held, but in the end all he has to do is follow the sound of laughter. Loud, off-kilter, probably drunken, laughter. Oh boy.

Botta sticks his head into the room, and sure enough, there’s Yuan, along with a handful of Renegades. Yuan’s laughing louder than the rest of them. The smell of wine is pretty strong in the air. Botta takes his hopes of getting his report done tonight and tosses them neatly in the garbage. He’d turn around and let Yuan have his fun, but… he recognizes that laugh. Yuan is _very_ drunk, and leaving him alone with a bunch of rookies might lead to something Yuan’s going to regret. Besides, all of them look like they’re just a few drinks away from alcohol poisoning. (Can Angels even get alcohol poisoning? Well, it doesn’t matter, half-elves definitely can.) Time to be everyone’s least favorite person for a few minutes.

Botta clears his throat, loudly, and steps into the room. The rookies all go silent almost instantly, recognizing the look on his face, and having the presence of mind still to look a little ashamed. Yuan, however, either doesn’t notice or decides he doesn’t care. (Botta supposes, as the only person in the Renegades who outranks him, Yuan is allowed to do that. Unfortunately.)

“Bottaaa!” Yuan calls, delighted. He gets to his feet—an endeavor which he manages on the second attempt. Botta thinks the Angel reflexes are the only thing that kept Yuan from falling on his ass. “Heyyy, you need something?”

Botta doesn’t even bother mentioning the report. It’s pointless. Instead he surveys the room, trying to figure out how long this has been going, and the best way to put a stop to it. It looks like they were playing… poker? Maybe. It doesn’t matter.

“How many drinks have you had?” he asks Yuan.

Yuan strokes his chin. “Hmm… Good question,” he says, after a moment of intense thinking. “Janet?” He turns to one of the rookies—not a rookie, actually. Janet ranks pretty high in the Renegades.

Botta turns to Janet, as well, eyebrows raised. She’s holding a half-full bottle of wine, and she shrugs.

“Just been keeping everyone’s glasses full,” she admits. She doesn’t even look sorry. Botta shakes her head disapprovingly at her, though knowing Janet, he hadn’t expected anything different. She grins.

Botta exhales, long and slow. “Well, I think you’ve all had enough,” he says. “It’s pretty late, anyway, so perhaps you should wrap up game night, as well.”

The rookies all murmer agreements. Yuan groans.

“Aw, come on, let us finish this round, at least—”

“Noooo,” one of the rookies whines. “You _cheat_!” They’re immediately elbowed by their friend.

“I do not!” Yuan protests, a hand to his heart and looking somewhat offended. “They’ve just changed the rules in the past three thousand years! The old rules were _much_ better.”

“Yeah, and they were probably outlawed because they’re _bullshit!_ ” a different rookie calls over the rumble of complaints and Janet’s laughter.

“Hey! You can’t talk to your boss like that!” Yuan says. There’s a flash of—probably _not_ anger, in his voice. Or at least, not any _serious_ threat of anger. Yuan’s usually short temper is almost completely negated by the effects of alcohol, actually. But Botta’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Alright,” Botta says, stepping forward and grabbing Yuan by the arm to both steady him and hold him back should it come to that. Hopefully it doesn’t. “You’ve definitely had too much to drink. Come on. The rookies can clean this up.”

“I’m _fine!_ ” Yuan argues. “Watch.” He goes to disentangle himself from the chair and the table but only gets a step before he loses his balance. So much for those Angel reflexes. Botta catches him, of course, but now he’s supporting all of Yuan’s weight. This is fine.

“Would you like to amend that statement?” Botta asks, amused despite it all.

“Nope,” Yuan says. “Still perfectly fine. Better than fine, actually.”

Botta squints, for a second. That was kind of a weird thing that Yuan just said, especially in that kind of dreamy tone. He sure isn’t making any effort to _not_ be leaning on Botta, either. Hmm.

“Let’s get you out of here before you do something you regret,” Botta says, deciding to focus on that, instead. To Yuan’s credit, he _doesn’t_ trip over his own feet or step on Botta’s toes as Botta leads him to the door.

Yuan at least has the sense to wait until they’re down the hallway and not in front of a bunch of rookies before he says anything more. “What is this, a rescue?” he laughs. “Kinda feels like I’m being rescued.”

“Only from your own bad decisions,” Botta answers, shaking his head fondly.

“Hm,” Yuan says. “That’s fair. It was good wine, though.” He laughs again, breathless. “ _Fuck_ , I can’t see straight at all.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Botta responds, dryly.

Yuan says nothing for a little bit after that, though the silence is punctuated with intermittent laughter and hiccups. Botta sighs, exasperated but still fond despite it all. It’s nice to see Yuan relaxed, even if completely shitfaced. He hopes he had a good time at game night, before Botta interrupted. He hopes the rookies had a good time, too.

“You know…” Yuan says, after a moment. There’s that strange, wistful, almost dream-like quality to his voice again. “Gotta admit, I’m enjoying the whole being-rescued thing more than I thought I would.”

Botta raises his eyebrows. Weird thread of conversation, but okay. “Uh-huh?” he says.

“Yeahhh…” Yuan continues, dragging the sounds out. “Having a big, strong man swoop into save you? Definitely seeing the appeal…”

Botta nearly trips. What. _What_.

Once he’s got his balance again—at least physically, if not mentally—he looks down at Yuan, wondering if he misheard. Yuan’s still leaning completely against him, looking incredibly content. There’s a quiet gleam in his eyes, and his grin is lopsided.

“You’re cute when you’re startled,” Yuan whispers.

Oh. _Fuck_.

Botta’s heart stops beating for a second, two, finally starts beating on three.

He’s well aware that Yuan basically doesn’t have a filter when he’s drunk, but this is a new problem entirely. Is Yuan… _flirting_? With _him_? No. Yes…? _No._ And even if he is, Botta absolutely definitely isn’t lowkey delighted by the fact it’s happening. Of course he isn’t.

Now isn’t the time, anyway.

Botta turns his head away, hoping his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel like they are. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Yuan laughs again, but doesn’t say anything more. Which is good, because Botta’s pretty sure his heart’s going to just straight up explode if Yuan does as much as open his mouth. They arrive at Yuan’s quarters without incident.

“Permission to crash?” Yuan asks, tone landing somewhere between joking and serious. Botta’s not sure which is worse.

“Not until that water I requested for you gets here,” Botta says. He should probably make Yuan sit down on his bed, but Yuan seems perfectly content leaning against Botta and despite his racing heart, Botta’s pretty okay with Yuan being here, too.

“Aww, come on,” Yuan all-but whines. “I’m an Angel! I don’t get hangovers!”

“Yes you do.” And in case Yuan is thinking about arguing more, Botta adds: “Besides, you just put a frankly uncomfortable amount of alcohol in your body, and being an Angel isn’t going to magically make that go away. I’d feel better if you drank a glass of water, too.”

“Fiiine,” Yuan sighs. His hand is flat against Botta’s chest, fingers fiddling with Botta’s shirt. “But only because you asked.”

Botta tries his best to breathe normally. He should really get Yuan to stop clinging to him. “You’re a lot less stubborn when you’re drunk,” he remarks. He can’t remember if this is new or not. It feels kind of new.

“Guess so.” Yuan hums, leaning further into Botta. His breath is warm on Botta’s neck. “Thanks for the rescue, by the way. You’re a real knight in shining armor.”

Botta laughs, high-pitched and startled, both at the absurdity of the notion and _how close Yuan is the tone of Yuan’s voice the fact Yuan’s absolutely flirting with him._ “I’m literally neither of those things,” he says.

“Mm, you are to me,” Yuan says.

And before Botta can figure out how the fuck to respond to that, Yuan stands on tip-toes and kisses him.

It’s sloppy, tastes like expensive wine and what will probably be regrets tomorrow morning. Botta hooks his arms around Yuan’s waist to support him. He should stop kissing back, probably. But the floaty light feeling in his chest easily wins out over the dread in his stomach— _because Yuan is drunk and probably didn’t mean half the shit he just said or did and Botta shouldn’t get his hopes up anyway_ —and Botta feels a little bit like he’s taking advantage of how drunk Yuan is by not stopping this but just one more second, just one more—

There’s a knock on the door.

Botta pulls away like he’s been burned. Yuan laughs— _giggles,_ really, delighted and breathless, before he collapses into his bed. Botta thinks that laugh was kinda _cute_ and then he catches himself, cheeks burning.

“Um, I have the water Lord Botta requested?” calls the poor soul at the door.

Fuck. Right. Right. Botta goes to get that. The exchange is kind of a blur, so is convincing Yuan to even drink a glass. Botta’s mind is still spinning, still playing the moment back. That… really just happened, huh? And Yuan probably isn’t even going to remember it tomorrow morning, considering how shitfaced he is. That’s fine. (It’s not fine.)

“Permission to crash, for real this time?” Yuan asks, already splayed out on his bed. He turns his head enough to send Botta a lopsided smile, eyes gleaming. It’s not _fair._ How can he be so casual, like nothing just happened?

“Permission granted,” Botta says, smiling despite the storm in his chest. Falling into this pattern is so easy he doesn’t even have to think about it. It’s probably what he loves most about Yuan.

Yuan gives a mock salute, then waves Botta off. “Wake me up if anything happens.”

“I will,” Botta says, though he doesn’t intend to. It’d have to be something _incredibly_ serious to warrant that. “Sleep well, Yuan.” And he exits the room.

_Fuck._

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

 

\- - - 

 

Yuan sleeps in well past noon. Botta spends the morning fielding Renegade reports (not anything new) and trying not to think about what’s going to happen when Yuan wakes up. It’s. Difficult. Keeping his mind off of it. How is he supposed to forget the shape of Yuan’s lips, the heat of Yuan leaning entirely into him—

“Lord Botta?”

Botta shakes the thought out of his head and hastily places himself back in the present. He’s sitting in the cafeteria, finishing up his lunch. He looks up from his plate to see who’s speaking to him. Janet. Interesting.

“This seat taken?” she asks, already sitting down across from Botta. Botta lets her. It doesn’t matter that much. “I asked you like twice, but you were totally zoned out there.”

“Lot of paperwork to do,” Botta answers. It’s not a lie. It just wasn’t what he was thinking about. He’s very used to denying all the time he spends daydreaming about Yuan—but, of course, he doesn’t daydream about Yuan much at all. Of course he doesn’t.

Janet leans in a little, voice lowered and eyebrows raised. “Doing Lord Yuan’s for him?” she guesses.

Botta scowls, slightly. His track record with Janet is somewhat rocky. She’s good at her job, and she knows it, and likes to push buttons because she knows she can get away with it. She’s also on a mission to get Yuan completely shitfaced at any and every opportunity presented to her. Botta’d mind more if the Renegades were an actual organization, and not a place for half-elves scorned by the world and Cruxis to take refuge. They’re all family. That’s the only way they’ll survive on this mission they’ve all set out on.

Still. It’d be nice if Janet wasn’t so nosy on top of everything else.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Janet says, smiling and unpackaging her chopsticks.

Botta rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his miso stew rather than answering, then grimaces. The dregs never taste as good as the rest. He could probably wrap up and leave, but Janet speaks before he can excuse himself.

“How is Lord Yuan, anyway?” she asks. She has the presence of mind to keep her voice down, at least.

“Fine,” Botta says, preferring not to tell her that he’s still out cold after she got him incredibly drunk last night. (He should probably go check on Yuan again, soon. It’s been a while. Not that Yuan… _can’t_ take care of himself, but. Botta wants to be there.)

“Sleeping off a hangover?” Janet guesses.

“Surprised you aren’t,” Botta counters, which probably tells her plenty about Yuan, but it steers the conversation focus away from him.

Janet laughs, loud and kind of bitter towards the end. “Unfortunately, I still have work,” she says, sighing deeply and stirring her miso discontentedly. “No one’s going to come and do _my_ paperwork for me. Lord Yuan’s a lucky guy, having someone like you.”

Yuan’s voice drunkenly slurring ‘ _You’re a real knight in shining armor’_ against his neck plays back in Botta’s mind, and he keeps himself carefully still and his expression carefully neutral so Janet can’t read too much into anything.

“You think so?” he asks, like he hasn’t thought it—marveled it, marveled that Yuan _trusts him_ so damn much—a million times already.

Janet nods. “Yeah! Though…” She frowns. “I wonder if he doesn’t really think you’re an incredible killjoy, too. Interrupting game night…” She tsks and shakes her head. “Come on, what’s wrong with a little fun?”

“You were all literally one glass away from alcohol poisoning,” Botta argues.

“You could have confiscated our alcohol and been on your way,” Janet says, gesturing with her chopsticks. “That would have solved that problem.”

“True,” Botta admits. But if he’d left Yuan there, then… Yuan wouldn’t have kissed him. One interrupted game night was well worth that kiss, even if it was the only kiss from Yuan he’ll ever get. He’ll gladly piss Janet off for that. He’s feeling a little smug, but sure as hell can’t tell Janet the real reason why, so turns it into: “Didn’t look like those rookies were enjoying Yuan cheating, though, so maybe it’s a good thing I put an end to it.”

“No, come on, that was hilarious!” Janet insists, laughing hard enough she drops a piece tofu. “I wish you’d left him there, it was making my entire night.”

Botta is not surprised, but somehow still disappointed. “Of course you’d think that,” he mutters.

“He’s a _delight_ when drunk.”

“And now I’m positive I made the right choice getting him out of there.”

“Killjoy,” Janet grumbles.

“And still your boss,” Botta says. He gathers up his things and gets to his feet. Yuan can take care of himself, but Botta’s still definitely been gone too long. “Good luck on your paperwork,” he tells Janet.

“Good luck on yours,” she replies, sending him a half-hearted salute before he leaves.

Before Botta goes to check on Yuan, he makes a few stops. First, the cafeteria line again, to get Yuan lunch to go. Yuan doesn’t need it, and probably isn’t even awake yet, but maybe he’d like some miso. Second, Botta stops at his own room to pick up his paperwork, before he heads to Yuan’s quarters to work on it.

Yuan’s quarters are comprised of three rooms. Yuan’s office, where he keeps his mountains of paperwork (he has another, more professional office, elsewhere on base), Yuan’s bedroom, where he’s currently still passed out, and a connecting room meant for visits and downtime, which is where Botta settles. He sets his stack of paperwork down on the coffee table and sits on the couch to get to work. His pillows are still here from last night. Well. He’ll deal with that later.

He’s still a little anxious about what’s going to happen when Yuan wakes up, because if Yuan remembers last night… Botta tries to focus on the paperwork instead of thinking about it. It’s difficult. He’s sitting just twenty feet from where Yuan kissed him, and the paperwork isn’t nearly distracting enough to keep the memory from playing back in his mind. Yuan’s hand on his chest, breath on his neck, how _happy_ Yuan looked. Was it the alcohol? Something else?

Botta goes back to the paperwork.

Or, he tries. He writes one word, and then there’s a soft groan of pain from Yuan’s room.

“Aaaaaugh, _fuck_ ,” Yuan moans. Botta gets up to go check on him, pausing in the doorway. Yuan remains splayed out on his bed, but he’s rubbing at his head, glaring up at the ceiling as he mutters a few more curses. Botta chuckles, fond.

“I told you you get hangovers,” Botta says, a little smug.

“Shut up,” Yuan grumbles. His face scrunches up in concentration as he pushes his hair out of his face. “I just need to remember how to—” His face relaxes, and then he lets out a sigh of relief. “There we go.”

Botta chuckles again, a little amazed. He’s well aware this is a thing Yuan can do, but it’s no less strange every time Yuan does it. The ability to turn off one’s pain receptors? Must be useful, but… Angels are. Weird.

“You want something to eat?” Botta asks. “I know you don’t need it, but I picked you up some lunch.”

Yuan, still splayed on out on his back, exhales long and slow. “No…” he says, and then: “Actually, what’s it today?”

“Miso stew,” Botta answers. “It’s probably cold by now, but.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll take it,” Yuan says.

So Botta goes to get it. When he comes back with the bowl and chopsticks, Yuan’s sitting upright and cross-legged, pushing hair out of his face. His hair’s down. Either he just untied it, or it came undone sometime while he was sleeping. Not that Botta is… complaining. Yuan looks nice with his hair down, like, _really_ nice. Botta’s so winded he forgets to say anything as he hands Yuan the miso stew.

“Thanks,” Yuan says.

Botta mumbles what he hopes sounds like _you’re welcome,_ though he’s very distracted. There’s really no reason that seeing Yuan so casual and unkempt should make his heart beat so erratically, but apparently that’s where he’s at right now. He tries to regulate his breathing, at the very least, thankful that Yuan seems too busy with his miso to notice anything.

Botta realizes about now that he should probably sit down instead of standing around like an idiot. He half-moves to sit at the end of the bed, catches himself. It’s not anything he hasn’t done before, but it’s definitely something that suddenly seems weird, now. Being close to Yuan is like burning. He doesn’t want to be any further away, either, but…

Botta moves instead for the armchair on the other side of the bedside table. It’s about the same distance, but feels significantly less intimate. It’ll have to be good enough.

Yuan turns his head and sends Botta a look of raised eyebrows and confusion. “You wouldn’t happen to have any clue how much I drank last night, would you?” he asks, a slightly miserable groan trailing in his voice.

“You’d have to ask Janet,” Botta responds.

Yuan laughs, empty. “Of course. I shouldn’t even be surprised.” He shakes his head, picks up a piece of tofu. “Ever since the Harvest Festival last year…” he mutters.

“I think she wants to hear you call everyone sluts again,” Botta says.

Yuan laughs again, but it’s a real laugh this time, boisterous and exasperated, a frankly beautiful sound. “That was… a _night_ ,” Yuan says, grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s really no wonder half the base wants to see you totally shitfaced again,” Botta agrees.

Yuan smirks. “Unfortunately for them, I have better self-control than to let that happen a second time.”

“Hmm,” Botta says, turning away so Yuan maybe won’t notice his smile.

“What’s that look for?” Yuan demands, voice pitching slightly in frustration. It’s not really heated, but probably not just for show, either. He’s sobered up enough for his short temper to have returned.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble,” Botta says, unable to stop from sounding smug, flashing Yuan a brief but knowing smile. “But you have absolutely _zero_ self-control when drunk.” The teasing is easy, but the easily recalled memory of Yuan leaning entirely into him and babbling delightedly about getting rescued makes him blush more than he’d like.

Yuan rolls his eyes and takes a bite of food to avoid answering. He’s silent for a long moment after that, eyes averted from Botta, but Botta can read the air and Yuan both well enough to wager a very good guess at what’s on Yuan’s mind and.

Oh, fuck. Botta grips at the armrests of his chair, heart racing. Oh fuck? Does Yuan. Remember. Oh, _fuck_.

Yuan’s got that air about him—the tense of his muscles, his back perfectly straight—that means he’s made up his mind and is about to just go for something, consequences be damned. Botta leans back into the chair like he could vanish into it, his lungs tight. Yuan takes a swig of the miso and sets the bowl and chopsticks on the bedside table. Then he turns the full of his attention to Botta.

Botta turns away, the intensity of Yuan as All He Is a little more than he can handle right now.

“About last night—” Yuan begins.

“Look, you were very drunk, I don’t- I don’t hold you responsible for,” Botta interrupts, stammering.

“Let me _finish_ ,” Yuan snaps. The edge in his voice is a lot sharper this time, and it makes Botta wilt. “As for what happened… Well,” Yuan sighs, “no sense beating around the bush. I don’t. I don’t regret kissing you. And though I can’t say I perfectly remember all of the shit I said to you, I’m almost positive I don’t regret any of it, either.”

“I… oh…” Botta whispers, his mouth _very_ dry. This sure is a turn hadn’t dared hope for and definitely didn’t expect either. But then, maybe he’s spent much too long bottling up hopes and feelings. Maybe he’s been blind to signs Yuan’s been trying to give him before this. Because, certainly, this didn’t come out of nowhere for Yuan.

Things that matter to him rarely do.

“Yeah,” Yuan says, with a sharp little laugh. He sounds exasperated, but… that smile on his face is definitely genuine. “Guess there’s no point trying to keep it secret, now.”

“Keep what secret?” Botta ventures, heart pounding in his throat. This. Isn’t happening to him. Is he dreaming? Did he get drunk somewhere in here? (He knows he didn’t. He’s very careful with his alcohol.) (He’s… not ruling out dreaming, though.)

“That I love you,” Yuan says, simple but with all that intensity that Botta loves about him. (As if there’s a part of Yuan that Botta doesn’t love.) It’s a little bit terrifying, standing in the wake of Yuan’s intensity, but Botta’s mostly used to Yuan’s intensity by now. The spell is broken, anyway, when Yuan laughs—soft and nervous—turning his head away and tucking hair behind his ear, a gesture that makes Botta weak for completely different reasons. “And uh… That I’d definitely kiss you again, if you’d let me.”

Botta forgets how to breathe. He sits, staring at the man he loves, the man that apparently loves him in return, jaw slack and trying to get air into his lungs again. _Is_ he dreaming? What the fuck.

Yuan waits for him, a moment, then leans off the bed a bit, anxious, impatient like he is.

(Botta loves that about him, too.)

“Sorry,” Yuan says, cautiously. “Did I make this weird?”

“N… no,” Botta stammers, barely managing to find the voice to do so.

Yuan rolls his eyes, not buying it. “Come on, I definitely made it a _little_ weird,” he insists. “You can be honest about that. You can tell me no, too, if you aren’t into me. I won’t be offended. I’m just… tired of not talking about it.”

Botta takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know how to voice his answer. Of course, his answer is _yes yes yes_ but he’s so in disbelief that this is happening and somehow _yes_ doesn’t feel like nearly enough. Except on the other hand, how is he supposed to find the words to say _yeah I’m kind of in love with you too_ and have it not be completely awkward.

So Botta takes a leaf from Yuan’s book, instead.

He gets to his feet.

He closes the distance between himself and Yuan.

He bends down.

Kisses Yuan.

Hands placed on the bed on either side of Yuan’s hips to brace his weight. Yuan bends back a little under him, but he sure as hell doesn’t pull away either.

It tastes like miso and curiosity, and it’s not nearly as sloppy as their first kiss.

Yuan’s, surprisingly hungry about this one.

His arms loop around Botta’s back, fingers digging into Botta’s skin as he pulls him _closer._ Botta compensates by putting a knee up on the bed, pressed against Yuan’s thigh. He leans in further, all but pinning Yuan completely to the bed. Yuan makes a delighted sound and _fuck,_ alright, this is good, but—

In way over his head, Botta breaks off and pulls back as far as Yuan will let him. He wants to just… make sure this is actually happening, and that it’s fine, before they go literally any further.

“Does that. Answer your question.” Botta asks, a little breathless.

Yuan laughs, delighted and surprised. Botta finds an ache in his chest to make Yuan keep laughing like that if at all possible.

“Absolutely,” Yuan says. He loops his arms around Botta’s neck and pulls him in. “Do it again.”

Botta does.

**Author's Note:**

> [as for that aforementioned Harvest Festival...](https://twitter.com/devlforgemaster/status/1042284855847870464)


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